


Abiding

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Anal Sex, Established Relationship, M/M, Mild Daddy Kink, Mpreg, Pregnancy, Rimming, Spanking, Trans Male Character, semi-open relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-04-23 04:09:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4862582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bard returns to the one who’s always had his heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Abiding

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Romi Lawliet (Romi)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romi/gifts).



> A/N: Happy (slightly early) birthday, Ohrileybluee/Jas/Romilawliet! ♥ Thanks for following me twice over! Prompt was Dracula!Bard (unfortunately I haven’t seen Dracula untold so he’s more just a vampire), Barduil, bottom!Thranduil, mpreg, daddy kink, rimming, and spanking. Jas, may your birthday and all the days to follow be sweet as honey and full of sex and joy!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

By the time Bard reaches Thranduil’s keep, he’s _starving_. Some times he thinks it really would be faster to use his barge to cross the water, if he could. It’s easier to fly around the edge, in the dead of night, while his people think he’s off on another barrel run. The fact that they even are _his people_ seems all but forgotten, but it’s simply become easier to let the Master govern Laketown. It gives Bard’s children a normal life, and it lets him slip away for times like this.

Every elf he passes is tempting, albeit only just so—none of them can measure up to their king. Though they stand guard over his halls, they let Bard’s darkness through. He can smell them when he passes, fresh, and ripe, and plentiful. He’s come at Thranduil’s word, but it’s been too long, anyway. He tries not to feed on the dirty, withered mortals that live pitifully about his decrepit home, and it leaves him too ravenous for the lush blood of elves. He doesn’t stop for any of them. His last stray dalliance was when his last child was born, and it’s left him alone, tied down in a rotten keep when he could be _here_ , in these rich halls, even though his heart still often calls for Dale.

He doesn’t imagine he’ll do it again. He turns a corner into the throne room: a vast, cavernous chamber with high pillars and glowing lights like the stars. He doesn’t turn his head for either of the guards at the foot of the long, winding path. He and Thranduil have an understanding. They’re allowed to play with others—they both wanted children, anyway, which Bard’s body never has and Thranduil’s body now won’t allow, and they’ve been together for such a long, long time. Once, Bard thought variety was necessary. Now he finds it mostly a disappointment: none can match his Elven lord. Bard still longs for him, even after all these years. 

Bard can’t stop when he’s reached the dais below Thranduil’s throne. He takes the extra steps, until he’s just at the foot of it, his beaten boots nudged between Thranduil’s polished ones. Thranduil looks up at him, offering a thin but radiant smile, and Bard has to resist the urge to _take_ him right here. 

“You need not have come so quickly,” Thranduil muses, icy eyes sweeping over Bard’s latest rags. He looks nonchalant and sounds so, but Bard knows him better. 

Bard curls his fingers under Thranduil’s chin, lifts it to force Thranduil to look up at him, and he purrs, “I couldn’t wait any longer.” He bends, ducking down to open his mouth and hover over Thranduil’s cheek, fangs at the ready and eager to sink into Thranduil’s soft flesh. Thranduil shivers almost imperceptibly in his grip, and Bard tilts to press one fang against Thranduil’s silken skin, where he drags it down the shape of Thranduil’s strong jaw. 

“You would not have to,” Thranduil murmurs, voice betraying him with a sudden hitch, “if you did not live so far away.”

Bard could sigh, despite having no need of air. He could mention that Thranduil has a child and should understand that Bard has his own, but they both know it, and they know he won’t be gone for long. Not in the grand span of their lives, anyway. But he doesn’t bother, because he missed Thranduil too, and he drawls, “The absence only made my lust for you all the greater.”

He lowers, teeth opening along Thranduil’s neck, and Thranduil shifts to slide his pale hair away, raise his chin and expose more of his throat to his lover, just like he always does. He offers himself to Bard by sheer instinct. But before Bard can take that offering, Thranduil turns suddenly away, protesting quietly, “Not here.”

He tries to rise, but Bard pushes him back, one knee rising to press into the side of the throne. Bard nearly straddles Thranduil’s lap, bringing their bodies flush together and slipping his palm along Thranduil’s cheek, fingertips brushing the gnarled roots of his crown. Bard gives Thranduil’s open forehead a chaste peck, then licks down his nose while he shivers and tries not to gasp. Against his lips, Bard purrs, “You’re too beautiful to resist.” Thranduil’s dark brows draw together, as though Bard’s made him physically weak: he’ll clearly succumb. The aphrodisiac in Bard’s saliva is already working its magic, though it’s nowhere near as powerful as Thranduil’s own allure. Delaying just to see Thranduil struggle with that want, Bard asks, “Besides, you called me here first. Now, what did you wish to discuss?”

“Not now,” Thranduil mutters, commanding and sure. “Perhaps after you have drunk your fill.” His answer earns him the reward of Bard’s kiss, open and full. Bard slips his tongue right into Thranduil’s mouth, holds their lips tight together and licks everywhere he can, tasting every last crevice while Thranduil pushes back into him, kissing just as fiercely. It tastes just as Bard remembers: just as magnificent.

When they finish, Bard nods, and he slips from Thranduil’s lap to take Thranduil’s hand. Thranduil silently obliges. His long fingers lock around Bard’s, and he lets himself be drawn away from his throne, then swept down the long path, regal in his steps but feral in his touch. The journey to his quarters is entirely too long. 

The guards that stand before his chambers say nothing. As soon as they’ve swept past and inside, Bard throws the door closed, harder than he means to. He turns to Thranduil, tall and so devastatingly handsome, and suddenly the short distance to the bed is too long to wait. Bard shifts his hand to Thranduil’s wrist and pulls it, bringing Thranduil right against him, then throwing Thranduil at the door. He grunts when his back hits it, hair swishing about his broad shoulders before falling perfectly back into place. He looks at Bard with dilated eyes, and they’re kissing again, with Bard stepping up to pin Thranduil tight against the wood. He pushes his knee between Thranduil’s thighs, his hands securing Thranduil’s arm and knotted in Thranduil’s hair. He kisses Thranduil for every night they’ve been apart, rougher than he could kiss any man of his town. Thranduil returns every one, no matter how breathless he becomes under Bard’s merciless reign. In between, Bard teases low, “You show me how much you missed me, my king.”

“You are the one to try and take me against a wall,” Thranduil retorts, just before catching Bard’s bottom lip in his teeth. It takes away Bard’s chance to question the word ‘try.’ In the wake of more kisses, Thranduil does admit, “But I did not find an immortal lover to spend such time apart.”

It’s cute, in a way, to see Thranduil so needy as this, reaching up with adoring hands to try and beg Bard closer, try to hold him tight and never let him leave. Even in the midst of Thranduil’s growls and biting teeth and firm kisses, he just wants Bard to stay and pet him. Bard knows it and wants to, he does, and he will, too soon. It’s the only thing that makes it bearable to have children he adores that he knows will die long before him. Thranduil will be here when he returns, just like it’s always been. Thranduil almost seems to pout, in his own elegant, imposing way, but Bard fondly kisses it away. 

“I know you like me being a good daddy,” he purrs, the single last word setting off a flicker in Thranduil’s eyes. The way Bard says it is nothing like how Legolas used to murmur _Ada_ and cling to Thranduil, and it lets him leave that association behind, instead fixing on Bard’s new promise. “And my time away should give you time for the same; you could’ve spent it with your son.” Thranduil snorts and looks bitterly aside, even as Bard rubs against his body. They both know he wouldn’t. So Bard teases on, “If your boy is being too difficult, there are remedies for that, too. Perhaps it’s time you threw him over your leg and gave him a good, hard spanking...”

“An archaic notion worthy of neither of us,” Thranduil grunts. He must know that Bard isn’t really suggesting hitting Legolas in any form, merely using the idea for a transition into one of Thranduil’s many guilty pleasures. Perhaps pulling them out will soothe his temper over being kept apart. Even if it doesn’t, Bard always enjoys making Thranduil blush. 

He finally does when Bard nips lightly at his ear and purrs against the pointed tip, “Perhaps you’re right, and that’s better left to consenting adults. I could at least demonstrate to you what kind of daddy _I_ am.” Another light tremor runs through Thranduil’s supple form, and Bard steps back just enough to give him room to breathe. 

Then Bard has his hand around Thranduil’s wrist again, and he tugs his lover back towards the bed, his other fingers flying to lift away the crown. It’s the autumn version now, full of rich leaves and ancient wood, and Bard doesn’t put it aside until he can reach the nightstand to place it properly. Almost everything in Thranduil’s chambers is made of wood, the elaborate headboard and posts depicting interwoven trees. 

Bard takes a seat on the side of the high mattress, and he wastes no time pulling Thranduil over his lap. Thranduil allows it, gracefully draping himself on his front with his feet still on the ground and his cheek resting on the bed, turned to look up at Bard. His hair decorates the sheets and his back, and Bard absently brushes it away from his rear. It’s an awkward position, but Thranduil pulls it off, as he does everything, though he mutters under his breath, “I do not appreciate this indignity.”

Bard immediately brings the first slap down across Thranduil’s rear, hard and fast enough to earn a hitch of breath. He chuckles, “That one was for lying to me.”

Thranduil doesn’t protest. He shuts his eyes, like it absolves him of responsibility for _liking it_ , while his posture bends to push his ass up into Bard’s hand. Bard caresses the curve of it, smoothing over the silver fabric of Thranduil’s robes. Then he draws back to bring the next one down, just as merciless. Thranduil winces from the impact but makes no noise. Bard was always strong, even before his gift. Now, he has the force to bring armies to their knees. 

With Thranduil’s hardening crotch pressed against Bard’s thigh, Bard covers Thranduil’s ass in blows. He hits Thranduil again and again, relentless and quick, because he loves the way Thranduil squirms against him: all exquisite dominion broken down to a plaything for Bard’s whims. He only allows the spanking to end when he can’t stand the fabric in the way anymore. 

He doesn’t stop abruptly, just slows, and moves into tracing Thranduil’s rear more than swatting it, his palm grinding into it as he asks, “Do you like that?” He knows the answer, but he loves his lover’s voice.

Thranduil takes a moment to catch his breath—something only Bard’s ever been able to make him lose. He notes, “You are playful tonight.”

Bard grins and bends down to place a kiss between Thranduil’s shoulder blades. Then he begins collecting Thranduil’s hair, sweeping it back, while his other arm hooks under Thranduil’s knees and turns him onto his side. It gives Bard room to unlace the top of Thranduil’s robes. He means to remove it gradually, so he can admire everything left behind, but Thranduil’s smells too _delicious_ for Bard to hold back. He tugs the robes down Thranduil’s shoulder, kisses it, open-mouthed but careful not to bite, not yet, and then he pushes Thranduil over and pulls down the other side. His fingers fly to pull it all away, and his eyes follow everywhere they go. As he reveals Thranduil’s chest, he bends to lick a line down it, and he nuzzles into one rosy nipple while he coos, “You are so very, _very_ beautiful, my love. You have no idea what agony it is to be away from you.” 

“I have some notion,” Thranduil answers, and the arrogance makes Bard chuckle. At least he’s distracted Thranduil from bemoaning their parting. His pride is well earned.

No one is as worthy of praise, and Bard can’t stop muttering amongst the rustling of clothes, “ _Beautiful._ ”

Finally, Bard finishes, to leave Thranduil sprawled across the bed and his lap in nothing but gold-white hair. He takes a moment just to admire that, run his hands all down the line of Thranduil’s body, pausing to squeeze at Thranduil’s hip. Thranduil props himself languidly up on one elbow and dares a level smirk. His rear is glowing, pinker than the rest of his fair skin. When Bard takes one firm cheek in his hand to squeeze, Thranduil’s nose wrinkles, but his grin only grows. Bard finds himself drawn forward, and Thranduil meets him halfway to give him another kiss. 

It gives Thranduil the chance to sit up, and he uses it to slink away after, crawling on all fours to the center of the bed. He faces the pillows, holding still on hands and knees while Bard stares. Then he shakes his rear enticingly and drawls, “Are you finished playing daddy?”

If Bard was, he isn’t now. He’s already stalking after Thranduil, moving to kneel behind him, and Thranduil responds in kind. He arches his body and spreads his legs, his long, pink cock already hardened and swaying between. Bard takes only a moment to admire it, then moves onto to the taut cheeks of Thranduil’s ass, and the little pink hole half-buried between. He’s clearly flexing it open on purpose, and it’s all Bard can do to stop himself from going in for a drink right there. It’s times like this he’s immeasurably grateful for Thranduil’s self-healing flesh, or it’d be littered in puncture marks overlaid across centuries. There’ve been times he couldn’t stop himself from such an offering, or even the smallest glimpse of skin. The last time he was here, he’d been about to leave when Thranduil had rolled over in his sleeve, kicking one ankle out of the sheets that Bard had to drag Thranduil over by and sink his teeth right into. 

For now, he prolongs the game, and he sits up to hold one hand firm at the middle of Thranduil’s back. The other draws away before swinging back in, smacking right across both cheeks. It’s definitely more enjoyable without the fabric. There’s nothing like the soft brush of Thranduil’s skin and seeing the rush of heat rising to the surface. Bard gives him several more smacks, each so hard that it sends Thranduil rocking forward, his arms tensing to hold himself steady and not lose balance. Bard doesn’t go easy on him. Bard almost wishes he could go _harder_ , more than Thranduil could take, just to make sure he’d feel it tomorrow night, instead of sitting right back down in his stiff throne. 

It’s also more difficult this way, hitting Thranduil when he can see the rewards of his effort, when he can watch Thranduil’s cock swing between his legs and Thranduil’s hole flutter in response. Bard’s barely given twenty when it’s too much, and he can’t bring his hand up again, because he’s busy kneading Thranduil’s ripe ass. Thranduil groans, pushing wantonly back into it, his head hanging. A part of Bard wants to concentrate on freeing his own dick, but he can’t seem to bring himself to shed his own clothes, because it would mean taking his hands off Thranduil’s body. 

He winds up bending down instead, mouth open again to kiss Thranduil’s tailbone. Bard shifts lower, kisses him again, then runs an eager tongue down Thranduil’s crack, hands grabbing one cheek each and wrenching them apart. Thranduil’s smooth skin seems to bulge between his fingers, but Bard can’t seem to loosen his grip or stop squeezing—he needs to _feel_ as much of Thranduil as possible. Thranduil’s quickened breath draws him on. He licks his way down to the tiny, puckered ring of muscle, where he laps over and over again until Thranduil _moans_ and spreads his legs even wider. He tastes clean but a little salty, though it’s the pressure pulling Bard in. As soon as he’s licked Thranduil’s hole enough for it to flicker open, Bard curls his tongue and shoves it inside, letting Thranduil’s ass do the rest. It seems to suck at him, bidding him deeper, and likely Thranduil’s trying to—he always loves having Bard’s tongue in his ass. There’ve been times he’s deliberately spilled wine on himself in bed just to have Bard lick it off, and being eaten out is always his favourite. If Bard had thought to bring wine, he’d pour himself a nice helping inside to drink back up, though he has other liquids he plans to drink from Thranduil later. 

As long as Bard can, he focuses on this: thrusting his tongue as deep into Thranduil’s tight channel as he can get it. He pushes in, pulls mostly out, twists and does it again, occasionally pulling back to lap at the sides. He coats Thranduil in saliva, rubs his fangs against Thranduil’s cheeks and sucks at Thranduil’s entrance. His hands play with the rest of Thranduil’s ass, until one strays lower to trace Thranduil’s inner thighs. As soon as Bard brushes his fingers against Thranduil’s cock, Thranduil moans again, completely filthy. Bard it gives it a single, cruel tug before he pulls back to concentrate just on licking, while Thranduil obediently stays on all fours and resists touching himself. Instead, he surrenders to be pleasured from the inside out. 

Bard doesn’t stop until he’s growling in want, his hunger piqued. Then he gives Thranduil a few more thrusts of his tongue, just to be sure, wriggling in deep and lapping at the sides. He drags his own spit out on his exit, and he places a chaste but wet kiss over Thranduil’s opened hole. That and his pliant Elven body should leave him ready.

Straightening back up to his knees, Bard hurriedly opens his trousers, one hand on the tie and his other on his belt. He pulls his cock out as quickly as he can, not bothering with anything else. The second he presses the head of it to Thranduil’s hole, Thranduil tries to push back onto it, and Bard has to grab his hips and hold him still. 

Lined up and ready, Bard drapes himself over Thranduil’s back, like he’s mounted his best steed. It’s one of his favourite positions with Thranduil, though really, he loves them all. He would, and has, taken Thranduil every way he can. They’ll likely go through many more positions before he leaves, but that will be for a want, and this is for a _need_. Bard lets Thranduil suck in one last breath, and then he slams forward. 

Thranduil tries not to scream, but he gasps, and Bard can see the strain put on his control. He’s shoved forward, because Bard goes straight to the hilt, buries himself in to his balls, forcing Thranduil to take his giant cock all in one go. Even dripping wet from Bard’s tongue and widened from Bard’s teasing, Thranduil’s hole could never take it if he weren’t an elf. But he is and he’s _Bard’s_ , and his body takes everything Bard forces it to. 

Bard nuzzles against Thranduil’s face while Thranduil struggles to adjust, his hips squirming and shivering with their ache. It takes considerable effort for Bard to hold still, instead of rolling right in to the hard fuck he’s been fantasizing about. He can feel all of Thranduil keening beneath him, bare, flushed skin rubbing against his ragged clothes. He finger-combs Thranduil’s hair over the other shoulder while he waits, so he has a clear view of Thranduil’s face, and he can kiss Thranduil’s cheek. His fangs come right out after, dying to _take Thranduil_ , but Bard allows his lover one step at a time. When he thinks Thranduil’s adjusted to housing his mammoth cock, he slips it out to shove it back in, tossing Thranduil forward again. 

It doesn’t take long for him to be pounding into Thranduil, loud enough to nearly drown out Thranduil’s needy gasps and whines tumbling out around his laboured breath. Bard fucks him hard enough to shake the bed, and soon the headboard’s groaning against the wall. The same lights and candles from Thranduil’s hall line his chambers, and the overhead lighting gives Thranduil an almost ethereal glow: the angel to Bard’s demon. Bard was once considered the kinder king, but the world’s changed and he’s from a different one than Thranduil, and they’ll always, in a way, be even: two immortal creatures that could never want for anything else. Everyone else Bard’s ever had has paled in comparison to this. Each slide of his body into Thranduil’s is as blissful as it was that first time, back when they were young and couldn’t know they’d spend their lives together. Thranduil’s just as beautiful now as he was the first time Bard saw him, feels just as good, and he surely tastes just as perfect—Bard’s fangs spread along his shoulder, tongue mapping a wet line. But he doesn’t bite, not yet, because Bard never takes what Thranduil can willingly give, and right now Thranduil’s too consumed present himself the way he so often does. 

It takes many thrusts for him to break. Thranduil may still breathe, but he’s a warrior, and his stamina’s more than impressive. Bard rides him for a long while, savouring every second. Each time his cock slams home into Thranduil’s waiting channel, it puts sparks behind his eyes. Once, Thranduil breathes his name, and his heart clenches, even though his blood isn’t flowing. Then Thranduil gasps, “ _Take me_ ,” stops on another thrust to moan, and begs, “Bard, please, _drink me_.”

Bard’s teeth are sinking into the side of Thranduil’s neck before he’s even finished the last word. Bard’s hips don’t stop, his cock still pounding inside, but his arms dart to wrap around Thranduil’s middle, holding him up and them tight together. Bard’s fangs pierce the top layer of skin so easily, and Thranduil finally _screams_ , his head tossing back over Bard’s shoulder. Bard only pushes further, deeper, until he’s latched on and as far inside as he can go, and he _sucks_ with everything he has, made heady by the sudden rush of blood that fills his greedy mouth. There’s none in Middle Earth as sweet as an elf’s, and none so _scrumptious_ as Thranduil’s. Bard gulps down a torrent of it, swallowing to feel it gush down his throat, so much that it tries to bubble out the sides. He’s buried too deep, sucking too hard for it to spill. Thranduil’s too precious; he can’t waste a drop, not now when he wants it _all_. He can take as much as he wants, and Thranduil will make it all again, because he’s _made_ for this. Maybe all elves are: fodder for the dark, but Thranduil is made just for _Bard_ , and Bard lives on his juices. 

Thranduil, at first, thrashes against him, rides each slam of Bard’s hips just as eagerly, but Bard drains his strength until he’s slack and pliant, screams turned to moans. Bard fucks him nonetheless, swallowing one load after another. Only when Thranduil’s arms are trembling and it seems like he’ll collapse does Bard stop, finally wrenching out with a sick squelching noise. It smears red down Thranduil’s flawless back, but Bard quickly laps it all up, licking and kissing the wound to urge its healing. It knits back together under Thranduil’s own might and Bard’s insistent love, until only two tiny sores are left, and they’ll be gone by morning. 

Maybe he’ll take more then. He’ll scatter Thranduil in bites, little love-nips, but he’ll try to behave and take less: just a sip here and there. Thranduil doesn’t seem to mind. He slowly starts to gyrate against Bard again, and Bard pets across his chest, fondly thumbing his nipples and lifting to sigh in his ear, “Thank you, love. You taste so, _so good_ , as always.” One hand drifts lower. He finds Thranduil’s cock swinging far from the force of his thrusts, and he grabs it to squeeze in his hand. Thranduil grunts. Bard pets it, slick now with Thranduil’s sweat. When he starts to pump it, he purrs, “You’re so good to me, my darling king. You satiate all my hungers. No one could please me like you do, because you are the greatest of all this world’s treasures; the brightest of all the stars...”

Thranduil’s cock, already stiff, hardens impossibly under the praise. Each of Bard’s promises makes it twitch, and he strokes it with love, trying to give back even a fraction of the ecstasy that Thranduil gives to him. He still rides Thranduil hard, and here and there he sucks the pointed end of Thranduil’s ear, occasionally licking over the puncture marks and murmuring, “I love you so very much. I would do anything for you. You’re my moon, my night, my very existence—whenever I go, I’ll always come back to you, my Thranduil, because you’re my _everything_.”

Thranduil’s at his most gorgeous when he comes. He cries out, tensing in Bard’s arms before tossing his head back again, his cock spilling fast into Bard’s hand. He collects the milky liquid and uses it to wet Thranduil’s cock and pump out more—he strokes Thranduil through it and still fucks him, his ass flexing wildly around Bard’s dick. Right at the end, Bard can’t resist another bite, but this one’s small: just the tip of his fangs in Thranduil’s shoulder. When he sucks, Thranduil shivers, the aphrodisiac in Bard’s kiss wracking through him to heighten the orgasm. Thranduil’s barely finished when Bard follows, pulling out his blood-soaked fangs to scream into Thranduil’s throat. The rush of it is dizzying, overwhelming, so over-stimulated that his vision, even unnaturally sharp as it is, blurs for just a moment. Pure instinct drives him to pull his cock out mid-burst so he can scatter his seed all over Thranduil’s rear, push it between Thranduil’s legs and _drench_ him in it. Thranduil’s transition is centuries old, but something in Bard still nags at him to _try_. The rest of him is too swamped in rapture to think about it. He luxuriates in his love and lust until the end, when he’s covered Thranduil’s slapped-red skin and has nothing left to give. 

Somehow, Thranduil stays on all fours. He’s panting hard, still left with residual tremors, and Bard’s mess soaking him. After a few seconds, he laughs hoarsely, “You often do that.”

“I want to push it inside you,” Bard growls, while one hand shoves the ragged hair out of his eyes and the other runs down the curve of Thranduil’s spine. “In as many places as I can.”

It makes little sense, but Thranduil still mutters, “That is what I wished to speak to you about.”

Curious, Bard withdraws his hands from Thranduil’s body, and it lets Thranduil drop tiredly to the mattress. He turns his head in the white pillows, his body turning onto its side along the sheets. He seems marred with Bard’s bites, even the ones that didn’t pierce his flesh, and Bard’s spit and his own sweat is all over him. Some of his hair clings to his skin, but most of it still spreads back, fanned along the pillow. His chest rises and falls heavily with each breath, drawing Bard’s admiring eye, and Thranduil’s hand shifts just below that, resting along his stomach. He drawls quietly, “I am with child.”

Bard almost jerks back out of sheer surprise. His eyes open wide, lips parting, though he doesn’t know what to stay. Thranduil lifts one elegant brow and waits. After much fumbling and a blank, still blown mind, Bard mutters, “I didn’t... I didn’t know you could still do that.”

As though sensing Bard’s approval, or perhaps just amused at his shock, Thranduil dons a languid smirk. “Nor did I, but I am glad, as the man I am with has proven such an excellent father.”

Bard lets out an exhalation that might be a laugh. He feels almost numb, too honoured to express himself. He has to bring a hand up to hide his face, half because he fears water might be gathering at the edges of his eyes. He shakes his head, and Thranduil draws the hand back down, curling the fingers in to kiss the back of it. 

Bard follows, bending down for a kiss, but Thranduil gently turns Bard’s head away. It takes Bard a second to remember to wipe the blood off his mouth, which he quickly does on his sleeve, before meeting Thranduil’s lips. Then they kiss properly, sweet at first, because Bard’s still too flabbergasted to manage with his tongue. 

After, he climbs down beside Thranduil, intertwining their legs instantly and snuggling close, though Thranduil pushes him back to tug at his clothes. Bard lets himself be stripped, his mind reeling. He’s often felt his place is with others of his kind, or what his kind used to be, but for this, he might have to relocate his family. His children would love this place, even if Mirkwood’s became dangerous of late, but he could have Elven guards protect them. He’s sure they’d welcome a sibling—he can still remember Sigrid’s wide smile when she first held a tiny Bain in her little arms. Someday, perhaps they’ll even learn to use a bow like Legolas. He has so much to think about. 

For now, he’s too busy _feeling_ to finish all his thoughts. He lies, newly naked, with his arms around Thranduil. They nuzzle flush together, Bard letting Thranduil catch a moment’s breath, before they celebrate with round two.


End file.
